


I Think I'm Gonna Stick Around (For a While so You're Not Alone)

by nekromanteia



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Season/Series 02, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-11 10:42:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19108030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekromanteia/pseuds/nekromanteia
Summary: Really, he’s planning on staying out of it. Right up until he finds Steve Harrington passed out in the back seat of Billy Hargrove’s Camaro.[Character Death tag isnotmain character death]





	I Think I'm Gonna Stick Around (For a While so You're Not Alone)

**Author's Note:**

> Think of this as a warm-up exercise, getting back into the groove of things so I can finish my other Harringrove fic before season 3 comes out. I have only the barest idea of where this is going, but it won't be too long and it's fun to write. POV jumps between characters a little, keep an eye out.
> 
> (Absolutely unedited, farm to table trash, feel free to point out any errors)
> 
> 💜

Steve Harrington’s a good kid, is the thing. 

Sure, from what he’s gathered the kid can be a bit of a prick, but he’s not going to pretend to care much about that. He kept those kids alive when he really didn’t have any reason to bother, and that’s enough to put him in Hopper’s good books.

That’s why, when summer rolls around and the kid seems like he’s going nowhere fast, Hopper can’t stop himself from stepping in.

He wouldn’t, it’s none of his business, really, what Steve does with his life. And, more to the point, the kid’s only just turned eighteen. If he wants to spend a year or two dicking around after fighting off some interdimensional monsters with way too many teeth, who’s he to give him shit for it?

So, really, he’s planning on staying out of it, right up until he finds him passed out in the back seat of Billy Hargrove’s Camaro.

“It’s not what it looks like, officer.” Billy drawls, his smirk is easy and he’s got a cigarette pinched loose between his teeth, but Hopper doesn’t miss the tightness around his eyes.

“That right? Why don’t you tell me what it looks like?” Hopper asks as Billy steps out of the car and turns around to put his hands over the hood, he’s already been pulled over often enough they’re both used to this, by now.

Billy shrugs, and, if he’s not mistaken, shivers, just a little. It’s cold enough to see your breath, this time of night, but that hasn’t stopped the kid from leaving his already too-thin shirt halfway open. It makes Hopper want to laugh, he remembers being young and vain, but he’s pretty sure even he was never  _ that _ bad. Pretty sure.

He straightens out and shoves Billy back around, pushing him back against the car a little too hard, probably, enough to rock the frame of it. Harrington doesn’t stir in the back seat.

“You wanna tell me what’s really goin’ on here, Hargrove?”

As it turns out, he doesn’t, and isn’t that just a real surprise.

When he makes it clear that there’s no way Billy’s driving away with Harrington still in the back seat like that, Billy looks about ready to try and  _ fight _ him over it, and Hopper knows he’ll do it, which is why he says “Don’t make me call your father down to the station, kid. Neither of us wants that.”

It’s not like he doesn’t feel like shit for the way Billy shrinks in on himself, just a bit, still shaking with what he almost hopes is just anger. Everyone with a badge knows exactly what Neil Hargrove is like, gotten enough  _ noise complaints _ to be well aware, but until someone else in that house is willing to speak up, not much they can do about it. And, the fact is, if Billy hits him, he really  _ is _ going to have to call Neil down, and while he doesn’t trust the kid half as far as he can throw him, he’s also not keen to make shit any worse for him.

Billy’s still seething when Hopper drags Harrington out of the Camaro’s backseat and carries him to the Chevy. He tells him to drive safe, knowing he won’t, and lets him off with a warning for the busted tail light that’d been the reason he pulled him over in the first place.

* * *

Steve wakes up alone, on the break room couch of the Hawkin’s police department, with officers Callahan and Powell eyeing him like they’re not sure if they should be worried or amused. Like anything about this is  _ funny _ .

He doesn’t know why- how, exactly, he’s here, but he does know Billy’s gonna flip, if he hasn’t already. It won’t end well, and Steve still wonders how he wound up more worried about Billy, in that situation, than whoever he happens to run into in a bad mood. Whatever, here he fuckin is and he doesn’t have time to dwell on it.

“Where’s Hopper?”

* * *

Steve slams into his office without knocking, and Hopper’s half tempted to drag out his phone call just to spite him, but something about the kid seems a little frayed around the edges and he thinks maybe another day, and hangs up on the Widow Jenkins and her fierce concerns regarding the teenagers who keep smashing her garden gnomes up.

He demands to know what happened before the phone’s even on the receiver and Hopper doesn’t get that far before Steve’s interrupting.

“What, he just- let me go?” He doesn’t sound convinced, but he doesn’t exactly sound as worried as his words  _ should _ probably make him.   
“Put up a bit of a fight, but I told him I’d have to call Neil-”   
“You can’t  _ do that _ .” Steve protests, immediate and vehement. 

“Look, kid, I know it’s not right, but the alternative was waiting for him to do something stupid and  _ actually _ calling his dad down. You think that sounds any better?”

* * *

He hadn’t wanted to tell Hopper about the nightmares. About how he hadn’t slept in days, how he really never does anymore and sometimes Billy just drives around until he passes out, and they don’t talk about it. If he told Hopper that, he’d have to tell him why, and he really doesn’t know what the fuck he’d even say because even he doesn’t know the answer to that one, anymore.

So, he hadn’t told him anything, and in the end, Hopper had let him go, seeing as he wasn’t even officially holding him. Neither of them had been particularly satisfied, and he’d sent him off with the unsaid and extremely unsubtle warning to stay away from Billy Hargrove, both well aware it wasn’t going to stick.

He goes straight to Cherry Road.

It makes his head hurt and his chest ache if he gives it too much thought, but Billy is the only reason he hasn’t lost his grip entirely, the last few months. The only reason he’s gotten any sleep at all. He figures- he doesn’t owe him anything, not after he more or less tried to murder him, but he feels compelled to at least offer Billy an excuse to get out of that fucking house a little while longer.

* * *

The worst part of what they’re doing is the questions.

Nancy had caught them, once. They’d been in some empty parking lot, both on the hood of the car with Billy’s shitty music drifting out from the rolled down windows, strangely soothing, just loud and abrasive enough to drown out any unwanted thoughts. Billy had been propped up against the window, chain-smoking and saying nothing, just fiddling with his lighter in the way that used to put Steve on edge, back when things mattered.

Steve had been curled up on his side, letting the warm vibrating of the engine seep up into his bones, a bracing contrast to the creeping chill that came as the sun set.

Then there’d been screeching tires and disbelief and too many questions.

_ Are you okay? _

Are any of them? Is anyone at all? What does that even-

_ What are you doing with him? _

Jesus. How the fuck is he supposed to know?

_ Why? Why won’t you come home with me? Why won’t you talk to me? Why are you- _

Too many questions he really, really doesn’t have the answers to. Questions he does his best to drown out when they start rattling around his own mind.

* * *

“I’m afraid Billy isn’t feeling too well. I’ll have him call you tomorrow, alright?”

Steve looks at Susan’s slightly plastic smile, sees the barely-there strain around her eyes, and knows he’s too late. No question. He thanks her, heads back to his car, and tries not to wonder how bad it is.

* * *

He gets halfway around the block before pulling over, berating himself under his breath, and digging the first aid kit that came with the car out of the trunk.

* * *

Seeing  _ Steve Fucking Harrington _ tapping at his window at ass o’clock in the night has him wondering if Neil finally knocked a screw loose in his head. With the eye he can still see clearly out of, he stares at Harrington, who looks far too fuckin irritated for someone who came here, on his own, for no reason at all. It’s so stupid it’s almost cute.

Which is exactly the type of repulsive, fag shit that’ll make tonight look like a warm welcome if he lets it get away from him. He rolls over, wishes it weren’t so late, that he could blast his music loud enough to drown out the knocking, sharper and more irritable by the second.

Two minutes later, he hears his window being yanked up. By the time he turns around Harrington is stumbling into his room, swearing. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so fucking baffling.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“What does it look like, asshole?” Steve huffs, waving around the shitty first aid kit that Billy’s only just noticed. He’s not wearing a shirt, and he’s aware he must look like seven shades of shit right now. It’s hard to imagine what use Harrington thinks a first aid kit is gonna be. 

From the face he pulls, Billy’s pretty sure his expression much show what he’s thinking pretty plainly. Still. “You think a band-aid’s gonna help?”

Steve’s more or less held his gaze since he showed up outside his window, but as soon as the words leave his mouth he regrets them because now, Steve really  _ looks _ . Anger swells in his chest as he tries not to wilt under the scrutiny, it’s all he can do to keep himself from flinching away. Choking on the humiliated shame tearing its way up his oesophagus.

Harrington’s gaze doesn’t leave him, and it’s- a lot. Makes him want to scream himself hoarse, get up and grab him by his pretty goddamn hair and- do something. Hit him. Touch him. He’s not really sure what his preference might be, at the moment, but he’s not really in any state to find out.

* * *

It’s really, really not fucking easy, looking at Billy. It’s not like he’s unfamiliar with the consequences of taking a beating, it’s not like he wasn’t aware of the shit Billy’s dad does, but- actually being faced with it? His parents aren’t the greatest, but he can’t imagine- some shit just shouldn’t happen. You hear about it, but he’s never really had to stare it in the face, before. So to speak.

It makes him feel a bit nauseous.

Without any conscious thought, his eyes follow the trail of bruises that eventually give way to the sharp line of Billy’s hip where it disappears under his jeans and- fuck. Like the situation isn’t already fucked up enough on its own, he feels even sicker with himself when the bruises aren’t the only reason his eyes wander.

* * *

It takes some convincing, but Billy lets him disinfect what he can, patch up what he can, and they both spend the entire time not saying a fucking word, pretending not to notice the strange tension forcing all the air out of the room.

Steve’s just about ready to leap out the window by the time he’s done, so he really can’t imagine what the fuck he’s thinking when he says what he says next.

“You know, if you ever- uh, don’t wanna go home, or whatever, I- we’ve got a spare room.” God, what the fuck. What the  _ fuck _ ? Why does he speak, ever? Why-  
“Yeah, I’m sure your parents will just love me coming by.” If he’s not mistaken, Billy sounds a bit- nervous. Maybe vulnerable, even, but he shuts that thought down before it can properly come to fruition.  
“They’re barely ever home. If they are you can just- stay in my room.”

Billy doesn’t say anything to that, and Steve’s pretty sure he’d be too terrified to want to hear it if he did.

He flings himself out the window and escapes in the night, feeling absolutely fucking stupid for what he said, and even more stupid for the fact that a part of him wishes he hadn’t left at all.

* * *

It’s fine, Billy tells himself.

He and Harrington have this weird- whatever it is, going on, and Harrington’s just paying him back for letting him get some rest. That’s all. Nevermind the fact that he definitely doesn’t owe him shit, after everything. Nevermind the fact that they’re not supposed to be able to stand each other. Harrington’s just- being Harrington.

He almost manages to convince himself of his own bullshit, right up until he actually takes him up on it.

* * *

Steve’s passed out, and his parents are out. Billy’s more or less been issued an open invitation and right now it’s either sleep at Steve’s, drive home and risk his dad catching him coming in late, again, or try and catch some shitty half-sleep while Steve’s passed out in the backseat.

It’s not much of a choice.

He continues to tell himself this as he just about carries an only minimally conscious Steve into his house, grunting and bitching his way up the stairs and down the hall until he finds a room that seems like it couldn’t be anyone else’s.

He has every intention to go find the guest room afterwards, he just- doesn’t.

* * *

It becomes regular, after that.

They drive around, Steve falls asleep, he puts him to bed and never ends up making it to the guest room. Neither of them ever bring it up and he’s always gone before Steve wakes up. Has to wonder if he even knows.

* * *

If pressed, Steve would’ve guessed it’d be his own nightmares that’d manage to fuck up the strange kind of peace they’ve been balancing the last few weeks. He’d have guessed wrong.

His mind still feels fuzzy when he wakes up, thoughts weighed down by sleep, and it takes a minute to understand why he’s even awake, even longer to figure out what the fuck to do about it once he does.

Billy’s lying next to him, shaking all over and gone so tense it makes Steve’s muscles ache just to look at him. He’s muttering to himself, something slurred and unintelligible, but inarguably, viscerally terrified. He fumbles for the bedside lamp and sees that his usually tan skin has gone ashen and pale, shiny with sweat.

It’s not- he’s always been lucky enough to keep his own nightmares to himself, they didn’t really start until after Nancy left, when he had no one to put before himself anymore and the walls he’d put up to lock things away started breaking down. Now, though, that doesn’t feel so much like luck. If someone else had found him, maybe he’d have some idea of what to do- or not do, even- right now.

* * *

Really, it’s both more and less difficult than it seems.

He’s not gonna try and wake him up, it seems like a more than fair assumption to say that Billy’s probably the type to wake up swinging from a nightmare like that.

Instead, he just leaves gets up to grab him some cold water for when he wakes up, sets it on the nightstand, and comes back to bed. It’s strange, he thinks, as he reaches out to lay a gentle hand over Billy’s shoulder. Hopefully comforting without feeling restraining- he has a hunch that wouldn’t end great, either.

Like this, without all the weird tension and the not-hate, all the baggage, it’s so easy to touch him it’s surreal.

* * *

It’d probably be generous to say he had much to do with it, but after a while, Billy’s breathing evens out and the colour starts seeping back into his skin.

Billy doesn’t wake up, and Steve falls back asleep to the steady sound of his breathing.

He’s almost certain the broad, warm hand that slips over his hip isn’t imagined.

* * *

After that, Billy disappears.

* * *

Life is cruel. Billy’s known this for years, known it since life took his mom from him, knew it beyond doubt when all it left him was someone more monster than man, incapable of being a father to anyone at all, let alone someone he’d worked so hard to twist into an image of himself.

Billy’s learned lessons the hard way, through and through, and he knows good things don’t just happen to people like him, not now, not ever.

Still.

He’s still stupid enough to wake up with Steve Harrington in his arms, a glass of water on the nightstand he hasn’t asked for, which definitely wasn’t there last night, and think  _ maybe _ .

Maybe this is something he can have. Just this one good thing. Maybe this is something he can learn to deserve.

* * *

The thought doesn’t even manage to follow him through the weekend.

* * *

One of Steve’s nosey-ass neighbours has spotted him sneaking out of the Harrington home one too many times, noticed the fact that he stays til morning, the only bedroom light that ever goes on is Steve’s.

Some people have too much fucking time on their hands, and the damage is done before the day is up.

Word travels fast in a town like this.

He spends the day lost in his head, driving nowhere, too fast, and by the time he gets home that night, Neil knows.

* * *

It’s the first time he wonders if he’s even going to see the end of summer.

Max cries, Susan hides, things don’t get better.

* * *

“Just trust me, okay?”

Max has him cornered outside the arcade, where he’s just dropped Dustin off, and honestly, he’s a bit impressed. She doesn’t look like she’s planning on letting him go anywhere until she has his word. It’d be funny if she weren’t confirming the exact fear that’s been gnawing at the pit of his stomach for the last few days.

“I wouldn’t be asking, but he’s- he’s in bad shape, Steve. He’s still an asshole, and he’s not my brother, but I’m scared he’s-” Her voice cuts off with a bit of a choke, and Max is a tough kid. He knows that. Knows she and Billy aren’t close, if she’s coming to him like this,  _ bad shape _ has got to be an understatement. “What if he dies?” She asks, quietly.

It’s odd, really. A year ago, neither of them would’ve given much of a fuck if Billy Hargrove was wiped off the face of the planet.

Now, though? It’s not really something he wants to think about.

* * *

He promises Max he’ll do what he can, privately promising himself he’ll just call Hopper if he can’t get Billy out of the house, seeing as he has no real fucking clue what he’s going to do. Tells her to try and get her mom out of the house, ask her to see a movie or something.

* * *

He’s just getting his shit together to head home from the station when the call comes in from Cherry Road. Hargrove house,  _ noise complaints _ .

Some awful part of him thinks maybe it’s not worth driving out just to do the same bullshit song and dance as always, but there’s always a chance he’ll finally catch the piece of shit at it himself, finally be able to put some kind of stop to things.

The possibility is enough.

* * *

Steve spends the entire ride to Billy’s house drumming nervously on the steering wheel, telling himself there’s no way- there’s no  _ way _ he’ll be too late. Neil wouldn’t be that stupid, would he?  _ Fuck _ .

* * *

There are lights still on when he reaches the Hargrove house.

When he knocks, no one answers.

**Author's Note:**

> Did cars come with first aid kids in the 80s? Probably not. We're playing pretend.
> 
> If you want to say hello/drop a suggestion/request, feel free to stop by the comments or find me on my [shiny new tumblr](https://divinerofthedead.tumblr.com) 💜


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